I was obtaining a kielbasa treat at a popular gas station/convenience store near a big grocery store in a part of town that is like a baboon's ass.
Am I distressed it is ugly as a thirty foot column of dog shit? No.
The condiments there are excellent and diverse, canned sour kraut and relish in institutional style serving fixtures, the chili sauce dispenser, the cheese jizz dispenser, upside down plastic dispensers of sauces people didn't know of in 1998, as if people less than age twenty five could die of substance abuse without exhausting all his/her food choices, and the coffee there is outstanding. I will attest of great sanitation, weenie buns cum in a safe-like oyster case, the cock shaped kielbasa units are always fresh and flavorful, fuck it all, that convenience store/gas station is a motherfucking lark. I was riding my bicycle ten miles plus outbound followed, right the fuck then, with another ball buster in, when it got to be kielbasa time. That mini plaza, ugly as duck shit, is an oasis.
Twas there that my best moment of the day, of the week, of how ever long I wish to claim it's giggling giddy memory, that two cashiers made my day. As one lithe exotic beauty was ringing up my weenie purchase, so heavy with kraut, chili, lots of other garbage, her comrade cashier and she conversed in sweet voices, sweet, sweet laughing, feminine voices, the woman to the left saying, as I approached the check out, "they must get a lot of nookie in the back seat of them things."
As the other tall woman tapped the cash register keys, she smiled so radiant, so priceless, glory of pulchritude working like a one armed paper hanger, "Yeah. There was jizz all over the apholstery."
That was absolutely all I overheard of their conversation, and it made me laugh. It made me laugh most of the way home, which was a hairy six miles, if I felt like pushing the bike, but I lucked out superbly, decided to use the bike rack on the bus, caught the thing, and glory be, the cash box wasn't working so I got a free ride home, with the bike safe as milk on the carrier. I guess I will content myself they were talking about a limosine, or other public, or private, conveyance, vehicle, bus, car, SUV, Humvee, who cares. Any vehicle that has jizz all over the seats is living proof of vitality, of one kind or other. Or else there may have been a sex crime, and of course I hope not, I abhor that brand of misconduct, but as long as it was consensual jizz, I'm happy for everyone who had fun. It can be wonderful to have sex while driving. And it can take two cashiers at a convenience store/gas station to remind you. What could possibly be more life affirming? A free bus ride, some rip-snorting good kielbasa, and edification. The North Side. No where else.
Am I distressed it is ugly as a thirty foot column of dog shit? No.
The condiments there are excellent and diverse, canned sour kraut and relish in institutional style serving fixtures, the chili sauce dispenser, the cheese jizz dispenser, upside down plastic dispensers of sauces people didn't know of in 1998, as if people less than age twenty five could die of substance abuse without exhausting all his/her food choices, and the coffee there is outstanding. I will attest of great sanitation, weenie buns cum in a safe-like oyster case, the cock shaped kielbasa units are always fresh and flavorful, fuck it all, that convenience store/gas station is a motherfucking lark. I was riding my bicycle ten miles plus outbound followed, right the fuck then, with another ball buster in, when it got to be kielbasa time. That mini plaza, ugly as duck shit, is an oasis.
Twas there that my best moment of the day, of the week, of how ever long I wish to claim it's giggling giddy memory, that two cashiers made my day. As one lithe exotic beauty was ringing up my weenie purchase, so heavy with kraut, chili, lots of other garbage, her comrade cashier and she conversed in sweet voices, sweet, sweet laughing, feminine voices, the woman to the left saying, as I approached the check out, "they must get a lot of nookie in the back seat of them things."
As the other tall woman tapped the cash register keys, she smiled so radiant, so priceless, glory of pulchritude working like a one armed paper hanger, "Yeah. There was jizz all over the apholstery."
That was absolutely all I overheard of their conversation, and it made me laugh. It made me laugh most of the way home, which was a hairy six miles, if I felt like pushing the bike, but I lucked out superbly, decided to use the bike rack on the bus, caught the thing, and glory be, the cash box wasn't working so I got a free ride home, with the bike safe as milk on the carrier. I guess I will content myself they were talking about a limosine, or other public, or private, conveyance, vehicle, bus, car, SUV, Humvee, who cares. Any vehicle that has jizz all over the seats is living proof of vitality, of one kind or other. Or else there may have been a sex crime, and of course I hope not, I abhor that brand of misconduct, but as long as it was consensual jizz, I'm happy for everyone who had fun. It can be wonderful to have sex while driving. And it can take two cashiers at a convenience store/gas station to remind you. What could possibly be more life affirming? A free bus ride, some rip-snorting good kielbasa, and edification. The North Side. No where else.
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